


Minefields

by Ophelia Coelridge (daemonluna)



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-10-15
Updated: 2000-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:30:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemonluna/pseuds/Ophelia%20Coelridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old wounds are inadvertently re-opened and no-one says the l-word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minefields

Despite Fraser’s best efforts, the dip of the mattress as he swings his legs over the side of the bed wakes Ray. He reaches out and wraps long fingers around Fraser’s wrist, thumb sweeping back and forth in a lazy caress. Fraser shivers in spite of himself.

“I can’t,” he says sternly to the unasked question. “Just because you have the day off doesn’t mean the rest of us can shirk our responsibilities.”

“Sure, you say that now...” Ray stretches indolently amidst the rumpled sheets.

Fraser suppresses a smile, which sneaks in none-the-less in the creases at the corners of his eyes and in a certain twist of the lips. “I do believe you’re teasing me, Ray.”

“Gee Frase, I dunno, what was your first clue?”

He turns resolutely away from calculatingly innocent eyes and seductive smile and begins to dress.

“C’mon, call in sick,” Ray wheedles shamelessly.

Fraser freezes.

“No, I’m afraid I can’t do that, Ray.” The words are steady, even, and measured.

“No, you’ve never skipped out on work to take some time to, y’know, just live, for a day in your life,” Ray grumbles.

“Once. Just once.” The admission is delivered in a voice that sounds rusty with disuse.

“Hey. Hey, what is it, what’d I say?” Ray sits up, sheets and blankets falling aside.

Fraser says nothing; he shakes his head slowly.

“Fraser. Frase, c’mon, talk to me here.” Ray kneels behind him, hands resting loosely on his shoulders, thumbs moving in soothing circles at the base of his neck. Fraser is as still and pale as a figure carved out of wax, and as resisting to the touch as one sculpted in stone.

Ray wraps his arms around him, and buries his face at the base of Fraser’s neck. Despite his frozen pose he smells warm and sweet, like sleep and sweat and dry grass under a summer sun. Slowly, inch by inch, he relaxes once again from marble to living flesh and blood.

“Go to work,” Ray whispers, lips brushing his ear. Fraser shivers at the contact. “I’ll be here when you get home.”

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely.

“I’ll be waiting,” Ray repeats firmly, dropping a kiss on the bare nape of his neck.

“I know you will. I know.”

Fraser finishes dressing in silence. Submits passively to the parting kiss Ray bestows upon his solemn lips. Shuts the door quietly behind him and trusts that Ray will be waiting when he returns.

Ray, sighing, leans back amidst the disordered sheets and trusts that Fraser will come home.


End file.
